Together, Forever
by THGFan4life
Summary: "I think I'm ready." I murmur softly in his ear. I knew Peeta had been craving for me to say this since we got married. Except then, I wasn't sure. I wasn't ready for such a commitment. When I was sixteen, I never wanted to fall in love, and now here I am with the love of my life. And I am not thinking about the past anymore or the future, I'm enjoying this blissful moment.
1. Prologue

**A/N: This is my very first Hunger Games fanficiton. I hope you all enjoy it and want more. And if you do, please, oh please, leave a review after you finish, telling me that it is something you'd want to read, because if it isn't, then why continue? So thank you all who decide on reading and double thanks to those who review! **

**Also, I never like writing in first person because I just don't enjoy it as much. I prefer writing third person. So sorry if it gets a little sloppy (even if I did proofread it) over the p.o.v. or tense.  
**

**It all takes place after Mockingjay. **

**Enough rambling. Hope you enjoy! And don't forget to leave a review!**

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**Together, Forever**

**Prologue**

I was never afraid of change. It would happen so fast that I'd be the last to figure it out. And even then, I'd adjust to it quicker than anybody else could. For example, when my father died, I knew my responsibilities had heightened. I was fully aware that I was the key sole for the survival of my family. I had to learn how to hunt, how to find game, and how to feed my family. It all came down to me.

Then the lone dandelion popped up, and that instant, I knew everything was going to be okay.

Of course that glimmer of hope for my family and I had subsided. The 74th annual Hunger Games had made a grand entrance. That was where the new adventure began. It was an adventure that haunts me for as long as I live. Death was a prominent chance. Surviving was slim chance at that time for the starving tributes of District Twelve. But together, Peeta—the other District Twelve tribute—and I had done the unimaginable. We won, two of us. That was the spark of the rebellion.

I was the symbol of it all. The Mockingjay. How? I still can't think of it. And during that rebellion phase, I had to revisit the arena for the Quarter Quell. That was where I found true, undying love, whether I had realized it at that time or not. And then I lost him.

I fought so hard to retrieve him. With the rebellion happening, I was very relieved when Haymitch announced they got Peeta away from the Capitol's grasp. But when his fingers locked around my neck, I was stunned. This Peeta wasn't the Peeta I had fell in love with. This Peeta was a monster who was out to get me.

The Capitol had brainwashed him to where he hated me.

Through the rebellion, Peeta had learned again the real and unreal things with a game. And that was when I finally realized, I couldn't lose him again. I had fought too hard to give him up. And no matter what my feelings where for my longtime best friend, Peeta was the person who cupped my flame and ceased it from growing larger.

"Katniss," Peeta slices me away from my thoughts. I glance up from my position at the table. Loaves of freshly baked bread sit in a woven basket. Two wine glasses are at the table. Peeta's is halfway empty. Mine is still full of the rich, red wine. I look down and see I haven't touched any of my food, which was surprising. I set my fork down on the rim of my plate.

I look up at Peeta's concerned face. Worrisome etches in his blue eyes. His brows are furrowed. I can easily detect when he's trying to read my expression, my dazed expression. He, too, puts his fork down and puts his crumpled up napkin on the table.

I shake my head. "I'm sorry." I apologize. "I sort of spaced out for a minute."

I shudder, recalling of my disturbing, malicious past.

"What were you thinking?" Peeta asks. He reaches over the table and clasps my hand in his hands.

He squeezes my hand gently. The warmth spreads between us. I smile gratefully. But soon my smile vanishes. "I was just thinking about the rebellion." I admit softly. I was never the one to cry, but at this moment in time, I could have cared less what I was doing. I felt the tears well up in my eyes. One by one, they cascade down my flushed cheeks.

I hear the scratching of the chair being pushed back. Peeta joins my side. He pulls me into a hug, stroking my hair. I lean into his bulky chest and sob into it. Peeta whispers encouraging words in my ear as I wail out my sorrows and fears.

Feeling no more tears, I graze up at Peeta, who is staring down at me with unease. He pulls in his bottom lip and chews on it anxiously.

"I'm sorry." I mumble, embarrassed.

Peeta shakes his head. "No, don't be." He whispers. He cups my face, which forces me to look into his deep blue eyes. I find myself getting lost in them. "You never have to be sorry." He promises. He pulls me closer to him, slowly, dramatically closing the gap between us. I close my eyes as I feel his lips brushing on mine, pressing tenderly on my lips. The kiss was slow, passionate, and tender. I melt in his arms as he gradually pulls me closer. Our bodies are tangled around each other as we sit on the chair. It is a perfect memory.

Peeta jerks away, smiling widely at me. The same type of smile blossoms on my face. "How about we finish our meal?" Peeta suggest. "And then we can play a game?"

I have a quizzical expression glued on my face as he gets up and walks back to his seat. He reaches over to a loaf of bread and breaks it in half. He offers a piece to me but I shake my head. Peeta shrugs and drops one half back in the basket. He chews the other piece thoughtfully.

I for one am not hungry. I pick lazily at my vegetables, and sip carelessly out of my glass of wine.

"Are you not hungry?" asks Peeta.

I nod. "I suppose not." I mumble. I let the fork slip from my fingers. It makes a _bang_ against the glass plate. I scrape back my chair and stretch. "I think I'll just go to the bedroom." I announce dully, ambling to the back of the Victor House. I play with my messy braid as I make my way to the back. I hear the clank of forks scraping against the plates, and the rushing water gushing from the faucet attached to the sink. I frown. I jerk open the bedroom door and slam the door shut. I trudge over to the bed and slide in. I feel a suppressing hole inside of me, and I try shaking it off, but it never leaves.

I close my eyes and do my best to relax. I listen to the sound of Peeta cleaning the kitchen. A wave of guilt washes over me as I realize I didn't help. I always seem to be hiding in here each night.

I toss to the side. I place my palm on the feathered pillow. I sigh.

Suddenly, I feel the glow of the hall light streaming in. I hear the familiar sound of the door creaking open. Peeta's padded footsteps get louder as he gets closer to the bed. He slithers into the covers, and I soon feel his arm looped around my waist. He crawls closer to me, and I soon can hear his light breathing.

He pushes a loose strand of hair from my face. I blink at his gentle, delicate touch. "What's the matter?" Peeta questions in my ear in a faint whisper.

I groan quietly and move away from him. He inches closer. When I reach the edge of the bed, I sigh in defeat. I knew I had to talk to him, open up. But opening up is hard for me. I never had that experience of having someone actually listening to my problems. Even as I lay right next to Peeta, I feel like he is somehow nonexistent.

"I feel alone." I confess hoarsely. More tears welcome me at the brim of my eyes. I blink back vigorously, trying not to show weakness. Peeta notices them without having to look hard. He wipes the salty tears away.

He whispers sympathetically, "Oh Katniss," He musters a smile that breaks me. "I'm always here for you."

I sniffle. "I know that. I can clearly see that, but I still somehow feel alone. And when I think that I could actually feel intimately closer to you, I shun away because I'm terrified I'll lose you again." I admit in a husky sob.

Peeta is silent at first. His expression is impassive to me. All I could tell was that his eyes were searching distantly.

Finally he exhales. "That's all in the past. It was a painful past, yes, but it's all over. The Hunger Games, the tyrannies you had to follow, the vindictive president, all of it is gone, Katniss." He extends his arms and I openly oblige to his invitation. I snuggle close to him as he continues. "I know we can't change what happened to us." He continues, stroking my hair. "But all that happened to us is only a burning fuel for our love to grow stronger. It reminds us that we beat everything hurled at us, that _we _are dominant. That our love is what everyone desires. We showed the Capitol that they can't take away a real passion. That it's defiance," He kisses the top of my head. My hysterics progressively die down. "makes it _real_."

My heart swells as he finishes his persuasive, audacious speech. I wrap my arms tighter around him. "That was beautiful." I comment.

"I noticed." He smirks. I narrow my eyes. He taps my nose. "It made you stop crying." He elaborates his vague wording.

He was right. Peeta was actually _always_ right. He holds the key to my heart, and each time he unlocks it, it swells. He makes me fall in love with him all over again.

At this moment in time, I feel content. I feel a promising and everlasting light inside of me that only Peeta inserted. I feel as if a new dawn is approaching. Most importantly, I don't feel alone. All my fears seem to have washed away with courage replacing them. And this courage is burning with aspiration.

Peeta twirls his fingers through my hair. "I see you're thinking again." He notes.

I nod, confirming it. "I am." I say. I gaze into his eyes. I lean up and cup his face. "I think I'm ready." I murmur softly in his ear. I ease back down and giggle at his shocked expression, his wide eyes, gaping mouth, and frozen body.

He shakes his head. He grips my fingers excitedly. I knew Peeta had been craving for me to say this since we got married. Except then, I wasn't sure. I wasn't ready for such a commitment. When I was sixteen, I never wanted to fall in love, and now here I am with the love of my life. And I am not thinking about the past anymore or the future, I'm pushing those worrisome thoughts aside and enjoying this blissful moment. I could worry about tomorrow when it becomes the present. I am primarily focusing on the present.

Peeta looks at me with a doubtful quirk. He has a relentless smirk on his face. Answering his sweltering question, I crash my lips onto his, making him fall back in surprise. I sling my jacket off, and it falls on the ground next to the foot of the bed. I brush my hair back while I fiddle with Peeta's flannel shirt. I finally have enough of it and in eagerness, rip it off. Peeta chuckles at my haste. He snakes one hand to my flustered cheek. I stop for a minute and bask in the warmth signaled off by his hand on my cheek. I press my hand against his hands, twining my fingers around his fingers.

"Are you sure, Katniss?" Peeta asks softly, rubbing my cheek tenderly. His voice is solemn. I shake my head with a confident nod. I lean down and graze my lips over his. Peeta's hands snake down to my back, and he thrust me closer. I suck in my breath and deepen the kiss. He rolls on top of me, and I let him have dominance over me. I allow him total access over my entire body. I let him see parts of me that I was intimidated on letting anybody see. And through our bashfulness of pure ecstasy, the promising I love you never dried out.

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***Disclaimer: I own only my plot. The rest goes to Suzanne Collins! **


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: I want to thank you all, of course, who clicked follow or favorite. Thank you! I want to say double thanks to Nelly 94 and radiant-shades for reviewing. I dedicate this chapter two you both for reviewing. **

**~Reviews never hurt!~**

**Alas! Here's the first chapter.**

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**Chapter One **

The bellowing sun streams through the windows. A crisp, cool breeze wafts through the opened windows. It sends a salacious shiver up my spine. I roll on my back and open my eyes. I stare for the longest at the bland ceiling, watching the rotation of the fan as it made slow circles. I glance back outside to see fresh snow blanket the ground. Even with all the coolness in the room, I feel sickly hot.

The door slams open, and Peeta enters, wearing a thick jacket with snow boots. He rubs his hands together, which are also in wool gloves, and walks towards me. He plants a quick peck on my lips. "Good morning." He murmurs softly, caressing my face.

I manage a frail smile. "Morning," I whisper rashly. I begin to feel nauseous. Everything starts to spin around the room. I count three Peeta's embracing me. I put a shaky hand on my forehead. My breathing is jagged.

Peeta furrows his eyebrows. "Still?" he asks sensibly. He removes one glove and feels my cheeks and forehead. "I think your fever has died down some." He checks, pulling the glove back on.

I shake my head cheekily. "It can't be." I retort, swallowing anything that might come up. "I feel worse than I did yesterday."

Peeta sits at the end of the bed. He holds his hands in his lap. "Can you describe the sickness? The feels?" he asks.

I nod tensely. "I feel extremely hot right now even with all of this blasting in my face." I point at the rotating fan and frosty weather. "And," I swallow. "I feel like each time I talk, I have to puke."

Peeta nods understandingly. "And it's been on and off for a couple of weeks now?" he reminds me.

"Yes."

"Well, whatever it is, I think you need to see a doctor." Peeta informs me. He then sucks in his breath and rustles my hair. I scowl at him, and he chuckles. "Do you want anything to eat? I made some little cinnamon rolls?" I make a nauseating face. He quickly adds, "Or how about crackers?"

I extend my hand. Peeta helps me out of the bed. He loops one arm over my shoulder. I smile appreciatively at him. He helps me into the kitchen where he set a glass of ginger ale and crackers at my designated spot in the kitchen. Across from my plate is Peeta's half eaten breakfast with a cinnamon roll and a cup of water.

He scrapes my chair back, and I ease myself down. He scoots me closer to the table. I begin nibbling at the crackers. I take a gulp of ginger ale. "Do you have any plans today?" I try to make a light conversation.

"Actually I do." Peeta replies after he dabs the corners of his mouth. "I have to prepare a wedding cake for the new mayor's daughter." Peeta says. I stiffen as I recall what happened to the last mayor, Mage's father. I could take the painful truth that most of District Twelve hadn't survived the bombing a few years ago. I can handle that. But as I relive the moment when I found out Mage, my only girl best friend, didn't make it along with her family, it pangs me. She, like many young girls and boys, didn't deserve to be burned alive.

"Katniss," Peeta notices my absentmindedness. I snap my attention back to him and force a smile.

"I'm okay." I lie.

"No you aren't." Peeta interjects.

"Just let it go," I growl, throwing the bitten cracker on the napkin. I push my chair back with such a force that it falls to the ground. I ignore it and walk out the kitchen into a tiny room full with Peeta's past drawings, sketches, and paintings. I turn on the light bulb and a dim light glowers overhead. I sit down on the creaky chair and roll to a painting he'd done several years ago of a small, peaceful family in a meadow. The presumable mother stared happily at her little boy as he ran through the tall grass with his hands high up in the air. The presumable father was painted to where it looked like he was chasing his son with a beaming smile.

It looks of a world where I so desperately want to go. I want to be in a place where I can feel safe without any threats. A world where I know I'd be happy everyday with no complaints. A world unlike Panem.

A soft knock comes from outside the door. I place the picture back into the little cupboard for it as the door opens. I glare at Peeta.

He squats down, ignoring my unwelcoming glance. He shuffles through some old portraits until he finds the one he was searching for. He heaves it out of the wedged spot and wipes the collected dust off. I watch from the corner of my eye.

"I remember painting this for you." He muses. He glances at me, and I look the other way. He frowns and heavily sighs. He stares back at the portrait. "You hated me making this for you." He continues. "Actually, I never planned on showing this for you until I knew you were capable on seeing it without punching me." He chuckles. "I had to hide it in here just so you wouldn't tear it up."

Curiosity gets the best of me. I crane my head back to catch a glimpse of the portrait. It is of Prim. I gasp slightly and avert my eyes somewhere else. I focus on the fat snowflakes sticking on the triangular window. I fiddle with my fingers, trying my best to distract myself.

I can't show weakness.

"Katniss," Peeta says sensitively. He crawls over to me and touches my thigh. A spark bolts through me. I swallow the lump in the back of my throat and continue to stare outwards. Peeta gently begins rubbing my thigh. I draw in my bottom lip. He starts straightening up, his hand never leaving my thigh. He swiftly brushes back my hair and tenderly kisses the side of my neck, tracing up. His touch, kisses, amplifies. The ache for him becomes overpowering. I square my body to pattern his. His lips smash against mine. I kiss him back fiercely.

That moment ceases just as it commences. I feel a rushing sensation traveling up my throat. My eyes are wide, and I push Peeta back. I scramble out of the chair and shove the door open. I race to the bathroom, a hand clamped over my mouth. I kick open the door, afraid that if I use my hands, the nasty vile would spurt up. I barely manage to make it to the toilet before it all comes spilling out. I gag as the repellent fluids exit my body. Peeta comes and meets me. He leans down and holds back my ratty hair like a gentlemen should. He strokes my back, signaling goose bumps. Thrashing out the last bits of the breakfast I had, I turn around and wipe my mouth. I decline back, close the toilet. I feel too weak to try to get up.

"I really…" Peeta gets cut off by the sudden recurrence. I sling back over against the toilet and throw up some more, feeling my body shrivel as there is nothing left to heave. Finally I flush the toilet, and the disturbing contents swirl away. Peeta helps me up, and I brush my teeth.

I shakily walk to the kitchen and ease down in a cushioned bar stool. I massage my protruding temples. "You can lie down if you like." Peeta offers. "It might help your stomach."

"No," I croak out. "I don't want to be alone." I manage a puny smile. "Let me watch you make that cake." I say.

"Alright," Peeta says reluctantly. He shuffles around the kitchen, gathering his supplies.

"What kind of cake is it?" I ask.

Peeta grabs cake batter from the cabinet. He puts a huge bowl on the island across from me. He dumps as much batter as he needs in the bowl. He goes to another cabinet and grabs more supplies. "They didn't really specify. They just want a towering wedding cake." He replies. "So, I decided on pumpkin since it is an autumn themed wedding."

I grimace. "But it's winter?" I point out.

"Yeah, I know." Peeta agrees, cracking some eggs. He shrugs. "They were supposed to have it in October but the original baker, from the first district, denied making a cake without specific details by the groom and bride themselves. He made a cake for the money, only to buy some makeup products, but the bride was allergic to some type of special frosting and wouldn't accept it. He got pissed and threw the cake at them the day before their wedding." I laugh at the inconvenience. Peeta starts to chuckle but clears his throat, growing serious. "Then they had to postpone the wedding until now when the dress finally got cleaned. And so they asked me to do an old-fashioned wedding cake." He concludes. He starts stirring the cake mix.

I raise an insolent eyebrow. He glares up. "Are we invited to this wedding?" I ask.

Peeta laughs. "I assume we are. But I denied the offer because I thought you wouldn't want to."

"I don't." I agree. "But, I still would have liked to go." Peeta rolls his eyes in response.

About an hour later, the first layer of the cake had been done. Peeta is creating the rich frosting as the next layer bakes in the oven. "So," I enter back into the kitchen after taking a long, relaxing shower. I wrap the towel around my hair. Peeta bangs the wooden spoon against the edge of the frosting bowl. "How's the cake coming along, baker boy?" I ask, leaning forward. The sweet, creamy scent wafts in my nose. The smell is delightful.

"Would you like a taste?" asks Peeta, holding out a smaller spoon full of frosting. I oblige happily, and he serves it to me. The frosting was cold and creamy, the way I always have enjoyed it. I swallow it.

"It tastes like vanilla, only orange." I observe, rubbing my tongue across my stained teeth.

"Was it good?" he inquires.

I open my mouth to respond when my stomach churns. It growls. My eyes widen. I clamp my hand over my mouth and sprint to the sink. I heave the utter less contents in my stomach. Peeta, who was checking on the second layer, spins around. He closes the oven door and comes to my aid. Again, he pulls my hair away from my face and turns the water on. "Katniss, you have to go see a doctor, tonight. _This_ has been going on for weeks." he says humbly. "I want you to feel better."

I squeeze my eyes shut. My breathing was heavy and rapid. I clench the end of the sink and faintly nod.

After a couple of more times clinging onto the sink, I am finally done when the third layer is ready for icing. I head to the back of the house and brush my teeth. I check my hair and shrug. Where I was going, I didn't have to worry about my appeal. Still, I pull my hair into a ponytail. I sling a thin jacket over my shoulder and slip into my boots. I march to the front door and obtain my scarf.

"Katniss, where are you going?" Peeta demands. He walks to the foyer before I could slip out. I turn around.

"I'm just going out." I reply calmly.

"I didn't mean to offend you." He apologizes quickly.

I shake my head. "You didn't offend me. I just need some fresh air, that's all." I kiss his cheek and instruct him to get back to finishing that cake. He is hesitant at first but nods and scurries back into the kitchen. I walk out into the crisp cold only not to be cold at all. I trudge across the heavy banks of snow to two Victor Houses down.

When I arrive, the place looks like a dump. The outside did anyway. The front door looked like it hadn't been cleaned in years. The windows were blurry from all the grim collected on it. The house's paneling and shutters were breaking off. Old whiskey bottles littered the ground. I bang open the door. A ghastly smell awaits me. It upsets my stomach, but I control myself.

"Haymitch!" I shout bitterly in the empty house. I step over a dead bird, wondering why it was there in the first place. I round the corner and see Haymitch passed out on top of the dinner table with an empty bottle of scotch in his hands. His snoring was low, almost listless.

I roughly shake him. He groans. "Haymitch," I bark. He flails his legs but curls up with his bottle of scotch. I roll my eyes and search around the infested room. Seeing a pitcher of water, I walk to it and grasp it. Without regrets, I pour it over Haymitch.

"What the hell?!" he roars, slapping glasses on the ground, causing them to break. On instinct, he snatches another bottle of scotch that was almost empty. He raises it. He looks at his surroundings and sees me. He snarls, letting the bottle go to his side. "Of course it was _you_, sweetheart."

"Who would you expect, sweetheart?" I mock him, taking a sarcastic bow.

Haymitch rubs his face with his shirt, trying to get dry. "What do you want?" he groans.

I slam the pitcher down. "I need to talk to you." I announce.

"Go on ahead." Haymitch slurs a little. He gazes down at his bottle and smiles. He tilts his head back and gulps down most of the leftover scotch. He ambles over to the couch and eases himself down. I sit across from him.

"I think I'm in trouble." I say inaudibly. I avoid his leering gaze.

"Finally," he says joyously. I narrow my eyes. "Peeta's come to his senses."

"What are you talking about?" I spat.

"You don't deserve someone as grateful as Peeta." Haymitch answers.

"You're mad." I bark.

He shrugs his shoulders, unaffected. "Call it what you want," he grumbles.

"Anyway," I shake my head. "Peeta and I are doing fine, great actually. But," I sigh. My voice wavers. "Something happened."

"Go on." He nods, taking a sip of the scotch.

"Well," I begin. "I have been feeling sort of sick these past few weeks. And at first, I didn't know what it could be. But now I do." I say shakily.

"Spit it out." Haymitch snaps, growing impatient.

"I think I might be pregnant." I blurt out.

With an opposite response I had predicted, Haymitch claps. "Way to go sweetheart." He cheers.

"What?" I gasp.

"It finally happened. I mean after years of waiting, _it_ finally happened." he says casually.

"You were anticipating it?"

"Who wasn't?" he demands.

"Me!" I shout.

"You should have known it would after you "played" with Peeta." Haymitch reminds me with a snicker.

"I…I was blocking out everything out at that time! I was trying not to be so clouded with memory!" I stammer. Stressful tears roll down my cheeks. I turn around to face the wall. I wipe my eyes and try to stay calm as humanly possible.

Haymitch notices and sets the bottle of clear scotch down. He rakes his fingers through his ratty, blonde hair. "Listen, Katniss,"

My head snaps around by the sound of my real name. It was rare for him to call me by my name. Admiringly, I had found respect in the drunken victor and mentor over the past years. He had helped Peeta and I survive. He had primarily helped Peeta. That was debt I could never repay.

"I hate to say this, but you got what you most feared." He says. "You're pregnant, sweetheart."

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***Disclaimer: I do not own anything besides the plot!  
**

**A/N: How do you think Katniss will handle her new found secret? When do you think Peeta will ever find, _if _he finds out? And who'll make a special appearance next chapter? All these questions will be answered next time! See you then!**


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: I want to thank you all for liking this story so far. Thanks to all who clicked follow or favorite. Special thanks to those who reviewed. **

**-vampireknight11**

**-the four guest **

**-gloriaalex.k**

**-volleyball1020  
**

**-radiant-shades**

**I dedicate it all to all of you reviewers and don't stop!**

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**Chapter Two **

I had mastered this skill ever since my dad died. I had practiced it every day, knowing I couldn't show weakness. I learned to make my gray eyes hard and thoughtless as the years would progress. I had trained to make myself know when the danger was approaching. I had mastered _this _skill without effort. And yet, I now know I haven't. That it was phony, that I compelled myself to believe that I had grasped it. I had learned to force myself in pretending. And it soon looked real. Neither the Hunger Games, nor the destruction of the Capitol broke me permanently. I slowly regain back control over my dreams, as long as Peeta's right next to me.

But this, I couldn't bear. It made my body ache, head pound, breathing scarce.

I lurch back from my chair. The chair flips over, Haymitch groans as one leg breaks. I, ignoring Haymitch's rant on how much that cost, start hyperventilating. My face feels flushed. My limbs feel week as I stagger back, slamming up against the wall. My clammy hands grip on the wall, fumbling for some type of support. My knees had become like jelly. My chest rises and falls ferociously. Sweat dots my hairline.

"Calm down," instructs Haymitch.

I block out his orders. My mind is spinning. All I have feared is coming true. I had decided to subdue my fears and worries out of my brain for the time being, and this is what happens. I couldn't possibly be a mother! I was the main cause of death in this district! I was the reason so many perished. Death recoils from me because it seems each time I get close to someone, they're dead. How could I ever explain that to a child? Especially one with my flesh and blood?

Collecting myself, I fumble my way to the door. Haymitch follows me in a quicker haste. He blocks the door with his arms stretched wide, panting. "Haymitch, move!" I snap, trying to shove him away. He lingers in his spot. "I'm serious!"

"Listen," he shouts over me. I step back. He wags the empty scotch bottle at my face. "I'll let you go, but don't you dare hurt yourself! Got it?"

With no response, only my jaw tightening, I finally heave him away. He skids past me, unable to stop. I barge outside to be greeted with freezing air. I march along the snow lined path to the collapsing, wired gate holding in District Twelve. I crawl under it and ball my hands into fist as I march onwards. Snow falls freely from the sky. Tuffs cover my boots but jump off with each step.

"Katniss!" I hear Haymitch yell. Haymitch struggles to get through the gate as he was barely sober. He jogs up to me as I try to walk faster. I _have_ to be alone for there to be a sole chance I won't do anything reckless. It wasn't that I wanted to get away from him-part of it might have been—but it was the tears in my eyes. I never wanted Haymitch to see me so weak and pathetic.

He puts a hand on my shoulder to stop me, lurking me back. I spin on my heels. "What?" I snap; my voice cracking.

His eyebrows furrow together. His lips are parted, and his eyes begin to search mine, trying to read my impassive features. I wipe my eyes during his worthless attempt to understand.

"You know," he begins slowly, making sure I understood clearly. "You aren't the same girl I knew three years ago." He shakes his head doubtfully. I only blink repeatedly in response. I tilt my head up at the sky and try to stop the onrushing tears. "You aren't as strong. Or you've hidden you fear well until now, sweetheart."

"And who have I become?" I retort bitterly. I glower at him as his words bombard me. I flail my hands up in the air. "I'm sorry that I'm not the same Katniss Everdeen that I was during the rebellion!" I choke back a sob. I tread closer to him. So close, that I can smell his alcoholic breath. "But guess what? You're right. Sure, but I," I poke him hard at the chest. I notice his jaw tightening. "am not that girl. I am _not _sixteen years old. I am Katniss Everdeen, scared beyond repair, and I don't care what you, out of all people, think about me." I hiss. I rudely bump past him, letting the tears slide freely down my face.

"Sweetheart," he sighs, but I ignore him. I may have said I had respect for him, but that never meant I liked him.

I sprint out of his reach. The cold wind greets my flushed cheeks. I climb swiftly through the dead wired gate. I sneak through the back of the town to reach the Victor Houses. I march up the cobble stone pathway to the Victor House Peeta and I share.

With no more tears, I open the door to be greeted with a warm, bakery scent. I slowly begin to thaw out as I weave my way to the kitchen. Peeta is icing the topping of the cake. The cake is five layers tall, minus the one he was finishing. The frosting is orange with brown swirls and fake, chocolate acorns. A little bride and groom statue is by his icing tub. Different instruments used to carve out such a masterpiece are by his icing bowl. I lick my lips as I step in from the dark shadows.

Peeta's head snaps up by the sound of my boots clanking on the ground. A warm smile envelopes his face. He sets his knife down and wipes his hands on the towel planted between two drawers. "Hey," his tone is soft and full of concern. He observes my red eyes. He strides over to me. "Is everything okay, Katniss?" he probes.

I shake my head as I retreat towards the back when he tries to give me a hug. "No," my tone was cold and hollow. "Um," I run my fingers through my ratty, snowy hair. "I would just like to be alone." I whisper. Without another word, I make my way to the back, secretly sliding a cordless phone into my hands.

Creeping into the bathroom and closing the door quietly, I rest my back on the cool door. My fingers feel numb as I punch in the number that I had memorized over and over ever since she left.

I pull the phone up to my ear. My chest rises and falls rapidly as I hear the continual ring, awaiting a response. This was the first time in the three years that I finally decide to call her. I never could muster any strength to do so before.

"Come on," I encourage.

"_Hello?_"

"Mom?" I gasp, clenching harder on the phone as if this was a dream.

"_Katniss?_" She responds, astonished.

"Mom," I burst into tears when I realized it was true.

"_Honey_," she sounds petrified. I would be too if I heard myself like this over the phone.

It had been three stressful years patching up the gaping hole in me and my mother's relationship. It was strained when my father passed when she decided on giving up, letting go on the sliver of hope, making me defend for the family. Since then, it wasn't the relationship I had wanted when I was growing up, but I had learned to defend myself and stay strong and to accept what I could get.

It seems I'm forgetting all that I've taught myself.

Taking deep breaths, my hysterics slowly become faint, low whimpers. My fingers are shaking against the phone. "I'm sorry," I swallow. "I just…"

"_Needed to hear your voice_." She finishes.

"Yes," I shake my head even if she couldn't see it.

"_Honey, what's wrong?_" she finally asks.

"I know you said you'd never come back, but I need you." I admit embarrassedly. I was awaiting a no.

"_Katniss, you have to tell me what the matter is._" She says, dodging the bullet of a question.

I swallow the thick, bulgy lump in my throat. The words are hard to roll of my tongue. "I'm…" I inhale sharply. "I'm pregnant, mother." I say.

Dead silence. All I hear is steady breathing on the other in.

"Mom?"

My heart sinks.

"_Is it true?_" she finally responds.

"Yes." I say more solidly.

More gut-wrenching silence. My heart slams hard against my chest. It put my hand over it, feeling sick.

After a minute of quietness besides my mom's breathing, I become tempted to hang up. Obviously, she would have said something by now if she remotely cared. My finger reaches for the end button when I stop. Whether or not she was listening, I knew I had to spit this out for one last chance of hope, for me and for her to come back even if it was only a little while.

"Mom," I say. Silence. Taking a steady, grave breath, I push these words out of my mouth vehemently. "I want to have an abortion."

* * *

***Disclaimer: I own nothing! Only my plot! **

**A/N: I want to clarify something if you're like WTF with Katniss. I'm making her slightly (or a lot, depends on how you look at her) OOC. She's been traumatized basically by all that's happening and she's real zing, slowly, that she needs the comfort of people. But she doesn't exactly realize that right now. It takes time. **

**I just wanted to point it out IF you got slightly annoyed with her.**

**Reviews are GREATLY appreciated by all of you! Tell me what you think will happen in the next few chapters! Will Katniss have a change of heart? Will her mother ever have the bravery to visit District Twelve? Will Peeta realize what's going on or will he continue making cakes? **

**Find out next time!**


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N: I want to thank all who clicked follow or favorite. That's means you like it! Yay! And special thanks to those who took time to review. *Virtual hugs for you guys***

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* * *

**Chapter Three**

As the words spit out of my mouth and rest in the stale, crusty air, I hear the click at the end of the phone. All the hope I silently, secretly withstand whisked away from me. Sighing, I already guessed the outcome. Why be surprised?

Even though I knew it was a long shot, I still feel the twinge in my heart as I realize my own mother has given up on me. It never has changed over the past years.

I blink back ferociously the tears that threaten to spill. I press the end of the phone and bring it down to the cold tile floor. I rub my eyes as if I was waking up from a dream and wiping the sleep away.

A soft knock snaps me back to reality. My hands slip from the phone and I scramble to my feet. I quickly turn the faucet on and let the water gush out. "Katniss?" Peeta calls over the roaring water. He knocks again. The doorknob twists and turns but I had locked it ahead of time.

My pulse quickens. My eyes dart around the bathroom. How much had he heard? If Peeta ever found out, he would never forgive me.

"Stay calm," I scold myself.

I am Katniss Everdeen. I am twenty three years old. I have lost everything except for Peeta and Haymitch. I won the rebellion. I'm happily married to Peeta Mellark, the boy I love. And yet, I made an incredulous mistake. I am now terrified and pregnant. A horrible mix.

"Katniss, what's going on in there?" Peeta demands. His innocent tone shrivels up.

"Um," I croak out. I clear my throat and brush back my hair. "Nothing!" I call out. "I just needed to cool myself down!"

"In the middle of winter?" Peeta questions, suspiciousness lacing in his tone.

I silently curse myself for being so flawed. I kick the phone under the shower curtain and yank the handle attached to the faucet close to my body, shushing the freezing water. I fiddle with my fingers as I slowly pace around in the bathroom.

I hear Peeta sigh.

"Haymitch is here!" he announces. "And he won't leave until you come out." I hear his heavy footsteps tugging back to the kitchen. Suddenly a broader, crude fist pounds on the door.

"Katniss, get your ass out here." Haymitch shouts. I quickly scuffle to the door, unlatch the lock, and drag him in. he staggers in, toppling into the bathtub. He rubs the back of his cranium and growls.

"You didn't tell him, did you?" I hiss, slamming the bathroom door.

"No!" he growls.

"Good," I sigh, relieved.

"But I outta." He retorts bitterly.

"Haymitch," it was my turn to growl at him. My left eye begins to twitch.

Haymitch's breathing is heavy. He thinks about it. Finally he responds. "Fine," he agrees. "I won't tell dearest Peeta. But you will."

I shake my head. "That won't be necessary." I say, helping him up.

"Why not?" He raises a suspicious, thick brow.

I silently unlock the door. I crack it open to hear Peeta bustling in the kitchen, washing pots and pans. A soft, melodic tune drifts in the air. I also hear the rushing water from the faucet in the kitchen. I step out and tiptoe to the bedroom we share. I motion for Haymitch to follow. He saunters behind me with a lazy stride. I haul him in the bedroom quicker. I grab my jacket and zip it up. "It won't be necessary." I remark.

"I get that sweetheart, but you haven't told me why!" Haymitch snaps, annoyed.

I open the bedroom door. Craning my head back, I give him a serious glance. "Because, I'm getting an abortion, right now," I latch onto his wrist. "And you're coming with me."

Haymitch recoils his wrist with a tug. "Oh no, sweetheart." He denies. "I don't want to be in the middle of this." He rudely pushes me out of the way and goes into the kitchen. "Peeta!" he exclaims. I suck in my breath. I hear the scraping of a wooden chair leg going across the floor. "Have any scotch?" I hear Haymitch ask. Peeta laughs and replies. I hear a slight bottle being popped open and a crystal glass being set on the counter.

Exhaling my breath, I casually strode through the kitchen. Haymitch holds the glass in the air and props it down to his lips. Peeta chuckles and wipes the dish he was cleaning. The finished cake was sitting on the table, glistening. I marvel at how beautifully structured it had become.

I didn't notice Peeta circling the counter and coming to me. He drapes his hands around my waist and romantically sways me. Haymitch pretends to gag.

A faint smile blossoms as Peeta's fingers press lightly on my waist. It makes me feel alive and not scared. And that was the reason there wasn't a battle or tinge of reluctance that night I opened up to him, let him see all the faults of me, let him love me.

My eyes inspect the kitchen as he gently hums a classical tune and patently sways me. They land on Haymitch's disapproving glower. The happiness fades away. I slip away from Peeta's grasp and walk to the door. "I need to take care of some business." I say ambiguously, reaching for the doorknob.

"Maybe I could come?" Peeta insists.

I shake my head. "No, it's fine." I leave him silenced and confused when I open the door and prepare to march out. I stop abruptly and lose my breath. My hands fall limply to my side. "Mother?" I gasp incredulously.

There she awkwardly stood with red cheeks, a healthy glow. Her blonde hair was pinned into a neat bun. Her eyes didn't seem dull and morose. She had a small smile. But most of all, she didn't look like she was starving. Her hand, curled into a fist, is slightly raised, ready to knock.

Knocking down the suspicion, I engulf my mother into a hug. She is stunned, as am I. But she relaxes and hugs me back.

"Ms. Everdeen." Peeta says politely. He shows no astonishment. He has a kind, caring smile and welcomes her. "It's great to see you so beautiful and healthy." He compliments nicely.

I pull away from my mother. She opens her mouth to reply to Peeta's comments, but I pull her outside. We walk outside in the snow for a long time in silence. Not one of us has the nerve to speak.

"Does he know?" my mother exhales with a dreadful look in her eyes.

"No." I whisper.

"And will he ever know?"

"No."

"Katniss," my mother halts.

I stop too.

"He really needs to know. It can't just be a lone decision. It could get ugly if he finds out." My mother warns me.

"He won't!" I bark. I try to soften up. "Did you come here to help me or not?" Apparently trying to become softer isn't in me.

"No." My mother replies shortly, curtly.

"Then why are you here?"

"To try to change your mind." My mother grips my hands. She stares into my gray eyes. I avoid hers. I swallow the bulgy lump in the back of my throat.

"Well I won't change my mind." I say icily.

"Katniss,"

I slip my hands free and continue walking.

"If he finds out, it could ruin your marriage!" my mother shouts.

I keep staring ahead of me.

"Katniss Everdeen!"

I whirl around. "Stop!" I screech over her. "This is _my _decision! If you didn't come here to help me, then go!"

My mother huffs.

"I'm serious." I growl. "Just leave! I'll find another way." I continue to march on, reaching near the district's central area. Few people were walking around. Only two kids skated on the thick ice. The local hospital was around the corner.

I don't hear footsteps following me. But as I reach nearer to the hospital, it dawns on me. My mother could easily still prevent this. She could run back urgently to the house and confide Peeta on my next actions.

I turn around and sprint back. I jump over the few obstacles that stood in my way and catch up to my mother as she climbs up the steps. I shove her out of the way. She collides in the wooden bench. It collapses.

"Katniss," she groans, rubbing her head.

"You can't tell Peeta." I say, panting.

"I can, and I will." She retorts.

I desperately look around at my surroundings. I need to come up with a plan to stop her. I need her to leave again. Suddenly, having to squint, I make out Greasy Sae coming from the Hob. She holds a pot of soup that steams. Smiling, I forcefully bring my mother to her feet and drag her to Greasy Sae.

"Katniss, you can't keep hiding this!" My mother protest as I drag her along.

"Yes, I can." I growl.

"Ms. Everdeen!" Greasy Sae says. A flung of spit flies out. I wipe my cheek. "Katniss,"

"Hi, Greasy Sae." I say quickly. "I need you to do me a favor."

"Okay, what is it?" questions Greasy Sae.

"Show my mother the sick and ill." I instruct.

"Katniss," she hisses.

"Make sure she checks everyone and tries to help as much as she can." I ignore her.

Greasy Sae looks at me then at my mother.

I stare strictly at my mother. "You wouldn't let innocent people die, mother." I say. "Not if you could help it."

"That is true." My mother confirms. "But I have to help you." She hisses in my ear.

"I can show her where they are." Greasy Sae says. She cups my mother's hand. "Please,"

I drop my mother's other hand. I take the bowl of soup from Greasy Sae's hands. "I'll see you later, mother." I say, leaving. I block out my mother's shouts and continue up the stairs. The door creaks open as the wind gets rasher. I nudge it close with my heel and set the soup on the counter. I note is on the table next to the cake.

"Will be back soon, I'm taking Haymitch home. Love you, Peeta." I read directly off the card.

Right now was the only time I'd get before my mother barge in or before Peeta could come in. I stride over to the drawer and grab anything that'd help kill this baby.

XXX

My heart is pounding. My chest rises and falls rapidly. Blood surrounds me. My fingers feel weak, and I sputter for air. I faintly hear Peeta calling my name as the front door slams. The knife is across the bathroom floor. The agonizing pain flushes me. I sharp pang jabs my side. I silently cry in agony.

"Katniss?" Peeta calls. His footsteps grow heavier with each step and finally stop at the bathroom door, where I have been spending too much time in. I pull in my bottom lip and chew on it anxiously.

_Please don't come in, _I beg silently. _Please, you aren't going to like what you see._

"Peeta, stop." I weakly groan. I try sitting up against the cabinet, but the pain is too much to bear. I exhale an inhale jaggedly, trying to catch my breath. My fingers fumble to my stomach and try covering up the blood and cuts.

"Katniss are you—" Peeta pokes his head in. He first studies the blood stains on the tile floor. Then his eyes trail up to me. His mouth is gaping and his eyes are wide.

"What the hell is happening?" he demands as he shoves open the door.

I groan, "Help,"

Peeta crouches down next to me. He removes my hand from the cuts on my stomach. He is stunned. His eyes dart around the pendant room. I groan again. Peeta hoists me up bridal style. I bury my head in the crook of his neck and let the tears drip off. "You'll be okay." He promises as he stumbles out of the bathroom.

XXX

I stir around in a new setting. My eyes flutter open. I check my surroundings. I am comfortably in my bed with the covers draped over me. I lift the covers off my body to see my stomach cleaned and bandaged. I have on Peeta's sweatshirt and some shorts on instead of the bloody garments I previously had on.

I straighten up in the bed, propped up by my elbows. I look around, wondering how long I have been passed out.

Precipitously, the door squeaks open. Peeta and my mother enter. My mother leans in and whispers something in Peeta's ear. He nods tersely. My mother gives me only a warning, threatening glance before patting Peeta on the shoulder and exiting.

Peeta closes the door behind her.

"You're awake." He says curtly.

I nod. "I am." I agree.

Peeta takes only a step forward. His hands are laced together and in front of his waist. He is quiet at first. Then, he glares at me and asks, "Why didn't you tell me?"

I swallow the bulging lump in my throat. "Because, I didn't need too." I reply.

"Why not?" His voice rises.

"Because it would be dead before you could find out!" I respond with the same high voice.

Peeta shakes his head. "I can't believe that." He says with a hushed tone. He stares at the ground, avoiding my gaze.

"Peeta," I sigh.

"No, Katniss! That baby is _ours_! Not just yours." he interrupts me harshly. He shakes a finger at me. "You lied to me!" his back faces me, and he rakes his hands through his neatly combed back hair.

"Peeta," I try again, but I cut myself off when I notice his fingers twitching. I raise an eyebrow, puzzled. He starts abnormally flexing his arms. I scoot back in the bed. He turns around and his left eye spasms, nostrils flare, and he growls.

"You've been lying to me." He snarls. "It's all been a lie!" he shouts through gritted teeth. I swing my legs over the bed and rush to him to try and calm him down.

"Peeta, calm down." I instruct sternly. His fingers overlap around my throat. I cough and sputter.

"It's all been a fake." He screams irrationally in my ear, squeezing my neck. I gag. "I hate you Katniss,"

"Peeta," my hands slap around his hands, trying to rip them off before I choked to death. "You have to stop." I gag.

"I can't!" he yells, tightening his grip. My feet lift off the ground.

"Peeta!" I holler over him. "This isn't you!"

"I'm going to kill you." He spats, growling.

"Kill me then you'll kill the baby." I reason. I try to swallow but I can't. "I know you won't do that Peeta, you're too good and loyal to hurt a living thing." Peeta, growing distracted, loosens his hands. I pry them off my neck but keep a firm grip on his fingers. His eyes darken.

"You especially wouldn't hurt someone that you helped create." I say, putting his palms on my abdomen. I lap my hands over his. "I know you won't kill me."

Peeta's heavy breathing dies down. His features relax and his hands are so tight. I tried my best to hide my smile of success.

"You love me, real or not real?" he asks uneasily. He slowly exhales.

I lock my eyes with his blue, innocent eyes. "Absolutely real," I reply strictly, cupping his face.

"You want this baby, real or not real?" he strains.

I remain silent for a long period of time. I have to answer truthfully know matter how hard it spirals, hits, and hurts him. I take in a deep breath. "Not real." I whisper.

Peeta's hands rest over mine. He nods firmly. I notice his jaw tightening. "I don't want you to keep this baby if it's only to make me happy." He responds. I wince from the hollowness laced in his voice. "I don't want to make you miserable, Katniss no matter what I believe." He whispers numbly as the tears well up in his eyes.

"Peeta," I murmur, stroking his cheek. Peeta stops me.

"I just can't be here right now, with you." He admits heavily. He drops my hands from his cheeks. With tears slowly cascading down his cheeks, he turns on his heels and heads out the bedroom door. Fresh tears cascade down my cheeks and my chin wobbles from the excruciating ache in my heart.

"Peeta," I call after him. "Don't!" He walks out into the kitchen. I run after him. "Peeta," I exclaim, shakily. "I can't lose you!"

Peeta ignores me. He shrugs on his jacket. "Don't try to follow me." He says. His voice cracks, but he never looks at me.

Then he slams the door in my face, and I stammer back. "Peeta," I choke out, opening the door to only be greeted by a gust of snowflakes. I close the door softly and press my back against the door. Slowly, I slide down and bring my legs up to my chest. Each day just seems to get worse and worse.

* * *

***Disclaimer: I own nothing! Only the plot!**

**A/N: Hey guys! Chapter Three is here! **

**So, I may or may not update next Saturday or Sunday because I'll be out of town for Christmas. And we'll be on the road all day Saturday, I am not sure. **

**Tell me what you guys think of this chapter. I, truthfully didn't' think it flowed as well as I would have liked but I needed to update today cause I didn't have time yesterday. But reviews would be awesome, telling me what you guys thought. **

**Will Peeta return? Will Katniss accept the fact that she needs to stop making choices on her own? (Highly doubt that, lol) These questions will be asnwered, hopefully, in chapter four! **

**Until next time, Merry Christmas!**


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hey guys! So as it turned out, I didn't have time to update during my vacation. Sorry. :/ Anyways, I'm back with the latest chapter! *everyone cheers***

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* * *

**Chapter Four **

I thought I could be strong, that I'd be able to push past this and look over the vivacious horizon. But the fear sank in my stomach the day I realized I was pregnant, and instead of looking over the horizon, I felt like I was in a deep, endless, black hole with no glorious light casting down on me. Now, I have to face that fear, along with so many others. I thought I'd be done with this after the rebellion. That if Peeta was alongside me, I could be unstoppable. But I was wrong. Like I always seem to be.

Peeta has been gone for three full days. My brain hurts from counting down to the last second since his departure. All I know is that he's persuaded Haymitch to let him stay and who knows what they're talking about now. I cannot even imagine.

I snuggle up in my bed, where I have been spending an unhealthy amount of time. The radio on my side table bleakly plays an old tune that makes my mind trace back to Peeta. Everything seems to go back to Peeta. I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling. I stare at it, never blinking, and sigh.

I _have_ to find a way to retrieve Peeta. If it means having this baby, I would do it. I most likely could refine a shrewd, calm happiness that could fool him. And possibly in the outcome, I could learn to actually feel something to this baby.

My hands travel down to my flat stomach. Absently, I start to stroke it with the tips of my fingers.

It was the dead of night and the fourth day was drawing near. My mother, with a superficial glower, stops by each morning and night to make sure I get fed, nothing more, nothing less. Haymitch had appeared once, tipsy. He stumbled into my room while I casually flipped through Peeta's latest sketchbook. He snatched it from me saying Peeta requested it and a pair of pants. Before I could ask him anything, he slammed the door in haste.

My eyes start to droop as a yawn approaches. I stretch as I stifle the yawn. I snuggle deep into my pillow and stare blankly at the clock. There was no more use on waiting for him. It was already three in the morning.

As I try to get some peaceful sleep, I hear the creak of the bedroom door open. My nose scrunches up from the pestering light, but I don't open my eyes.

Soft footsteps bounce off the hardwood floors. They get louder as the footsteps near me. The sound ends at the foot of my bed. I hear his husky breathing going down my neck. "Katniss," he murmurs remorsefully. His fingers brush against mine, and my fingers twitch in anticipation.

He thinks I'm asleep!

Peeta's fingers pull back my messy, tangled sided braid. He tucks the strands of hair behind my ear and leans down. His lips touch my flushed skin. My skin ignites with a yearning.

I fight the urge to smile as his lips lift up from my cheek.

Peeta rounds to the opposite side of the bed. I hear the rustle of the covers as he slips in. He loops his arms around my waist. He kisses my bare shoulder, and a tingle sprints up my spine from his touch. He cuddles close to me.

Even though I'm falling into a deep slumber, I still feel Peeta's warm, gentle hands rub circular patterns on my flat abdomen. Instead of dropping or pushing his hands away like I would normally do, I let him continue it. I don't want to lose him again even if it's only a couple of days.

That is the last thing I remember before I oblige to the nagging presence of sleep and command its wishes.

XXX

The next morning, I roll to my side, and my eyes flutter open. The glowing, yellow sun basks on my skin, spreading warmth all over my body. My toes curl, and my fingers pop. I sigh, wiping the sleep away from my eyes. I slam my hand on the other side of the bed to find emptiness. Was it all a dream?

The door bangs open. Peeta has a stern, serious glisten in his eyes. His lips are pressed in a thin line, and his eyes are narrowed. "We need to talk." He says solemnly.

Doing what he says, I scramble out of the bed and slip on some slippers. I sling my hair back and tie it in a rubber band. Without dismay I follow Peeta.

He is very quiet as he leads me through our house. My eyes trail around the spotless rooms as we pass them. Snow falls outside.

Finally, Peeta reaches the back of the house. He stops in front of the art studio full of beautiful paintings filled with different colors and techniques. My eyes furrow as I wonder why he wants to talk in here.

He twists the doorknob, and it groans as it slowly opens. He walks in, pushing back a growing spider web. I duck under it. Peeta sits on a single, wooden stool. He pulls out another stool and pats it, signaling to come over and sit.

Swallowing, I oblige and ease down. I watch as he drums his fingers on his thighs. His feet tap rhythmically.

"What do you want to talk about, Peeta?" I clear my throat. He stops drumming his fingers and stares at me.

"You." He answers succinctly.

"Me?"

He runs his fingers through his slicked back hair, messing it up. "Yes," he confirms. "You."

"What about me?" I say as casually as I can.

"What you did was wrong!" He exclaims. He takes a deep breath and counts to ten. "I get you didn't want this. I do. It's just," he stares at me, confused. "Why didn't you come and talk to me?"

"I didn't think I needed too." I reply quietly. I avoid his gaze. "I thought I could fix this on my own." I add.

"Katniss," Peeta starts, but I cut him off.

"Peeta!" I exclaim. "I know what you're about to say!"

"What?" he demands.

"That it was stupid!" I shout. "That I have to talk! That I can't keep shunning away! Okay! I know!" I start to breath heavily. "I can't! Okay? I can't tell you everything because sometimes, I can't even tell myself! I try not to believe it, hoping it will vanish!" I now was standing up. My fingers press against my chest. "I'm terrified. I always will be. That'll never change! I get so scared that I hide it, and then I try to think of ways to get rid of the problem without confiding anybody!"

In frustration, I kick the chair, breaking it. I turn my back on Peeta. "So, say what you want, but it will never change! I can't tell you my feelings because I can't get them out and in the open!"

Silence except for my heavy breathing.

"Katniss," Peeta says calmly. I roll my eyes. "You just told me your feelings." He stands up too. "You just told me how you feel. How is that so hard?"

My eyes dart around the room as I recall what I just said. I gasp. But I don't answer him. I fumble for words.

"I care about you Katniss. I care about you so much." He continues. "I wouldn't pressure you into something. That," he says. "Will never change." He puts his hand on my shoulder. I cringe. "I might not understand why you're so locked up on your feelings. I'll try my best to understand. But most importantly, I will do my best to get you to open up. I will never give up on you."

"You won't?" I whisper. My chest rises and falls rapidly.

"I won't." He promises. He nods his head.

It all felt new, knowing somebody will fight to help you. Suddenly more tears well up in my eyes. I turn around and see Peeta's arms outstretched. I rush into the inviting hug and sob in his bulky chest. Peeta kisses the top of my head and rubs my back.

After minutes entangled in a hug, I pull away as the tears ceased. I sniffle and wipe my red stained eyes. I sit down on the ground and take steady, deep breaths. I fiddle with my fingernails.

"What if I'm not good?" I whisper faintly.

"Good at what?" Peeta asks, coming down next to me. His back was propped against the other wooden stool.

"Good at being a mother." I explain.

"Why would you not think you'd be a good mother?" Peeta asks.

"Everyone around me tends to die. Especially little children." I say. I inhale sharply. "Like Rue and Prim."

It had been so long since I focused on Rue and Prim. After their deaths, I had vowed never to think about them. It was so hard to remember them without bursting into tears as I would remember it was me who got them killed. The hurt would easily settle in my heart, and soon, I couldn't live like that. I had to push them past and stop remembering them. I know it wasn't a good way to mourn, but it was the only way I knew how to do.

Peeta strokes my fingers. "It was misfortunate for them, but you cared for them and tended at their needs. You loved them." He responds. "Not everyone tends to die." He smiles. "I'm still here. Haymitch is here. Your mother too." He pauses. "So is Gale."

"Gale doesn't even talk to me since I rejected him." I remind Peeta.

"But I'm sure he'd come here in a heartbeat if you asked him." Peeta says.

"Still," I shake my head. "That's only four people out of millions that have died thanks to me."

Peeta gnaws on his bottom lip.

"What am I going to say if our future child asks me about my life? About the Hunger Games? Basically anything! The rebellion, the tyrannies! How will I explain it all when I'm pretty unstable just thinking about it?" I exclaim.

"We would tell him-or-her what happened." Peeta says evenly. "We'll tell him-or-her the reasons why it happened." Peeta gently tugs me close to him. I rest my head on his shoulder. "I'm positive our child would look at you the same way he-or-she did before they asked." Peeta promises.

"How can you be sure?" I ask.

"Because," he kisses the top of my head. "He-or-she will love you. Just like I do,"

I drape my arm around his waist. "Thank you." I murmur. "Thank you for still being there even after I pushed you away so many times."

"That's what I'm here for." He says, tenderly brushing my cheek. I lock my eyes with his.

"This baby is lucky to have someone like you as a father." I state.

"I wouldn't say that." he blushes.

"I'm serious." I say. "I'm blessed to have you."

"No," he shakes his head. He cups my face and pulls me close. There was barely a sliver of a gap between us. "I'm the one who's lucky."

He leans down and gently presses his lips against mine. I shift to his lap as I roughen the kiss with passion. After a minute, we pull apart gasping for air. I wrap my arms around him and hug him close and close my eyes. I am truly fortunate.

* * *

**A/N: So hopefully, this helped build their relationship! Continue with all of the reviews! And tell me what you'd like to see!****  
**

**Thank you all, seriously. I am so grateful! I hope you all had a good holiday if you celebrated Christmas, or any other typical holiday around this time of year. I know I did! See ya next Saturday!  
**


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N: Happy New Year! (I'm a little late, but oh well.) It's already 2014! Wow! It doesn't not seem like it. Anyways, I hope you all are having a good holiday weekend. I know I have to go back to school next week. Ugh. Moving on, I want to thank all of you who clicked follow/favorite. It means new people, and some continual readers, are enjoying the story! Yay!**

**I really want to thank all who reviewed. **

**~alwaysbebravegirl0nfire (Your review seriously warmed my heart. I'm so thankful! Just knowing that you want to re-read it because of my writing makes me so incredibly happy because I have made you fall in love with it. And making you want to reread it. Its so incredible feeling. It only seems appropriate to say thank you.)**

**~may96 (Thank you! Hopefully this time, you won't be saying poor Katniss. *SPOILER* This chapter contains...fluff!)**

**~CuteBrunetteThatLovesHG192 (Thank you so much! I hope you like this chapter.)**

**~everlark4cailey (This review was amazing, and heartwarming. Gah! I work so hard to make this as realistic as I can. Thank you so much, really. I hope, as an author, I don't fail with this chapter.)**

**~guest (Thanks)**

**~Natinator1234 (Thank you!)**

**~volleyball1020 (Here you go! I'm glad you're enjoying it. And enjoy that vacation! It'll be over before you know it. I know it was like that for me. I was in Florida for a full week during Christmas on vacation, and before I knew it, I was home. Ugh.)**

**~gloriaalex.k (I hope you smile throughout this chapter. Thanks)**

**I really want to thank you all for reviewing. It just makes me happy that you all enjoy this story so much! I wouldn't have continued without you guys! I'm so thankful for all of you! I love you all! I dedicate this chapter to ALL who have clicked follow/favorite/review throughout this whole journey. Thanks a tons!**

**P.S. I got a laptop for Christmas since my other one crashed. (Ack!) And so I'm not entirely use to the keyboard, and I don't know if it's me or the keyboard itself, but the keys are sticking and sometimes it's hard to type a certain letter. Especially words with A(s), that letter was a pain in the butt! So I apologize for spelling errors cause I typed this on my new PC. I looked through it about three times, but I'm not entirely sure its clean from typos. I do apologize in advance. **

**Done ranting. Here's chapter five!**

* * *

**Chapter Five**

Three Months Later…

"Peeta," I giggle as he carries me bridal style inside the door. "What's gotten in to you?" I ask as he leads me, in silence, to our bedroom.

"Can't your husband show you how much he cares about you?" Peeta demands teasingly. He kicks open the bedroom door. The room was dark and cold, just like I've preferred it to be ever since I passed the first trimester of my pregnancy. The bed, adjacent to the windows, was the opposite compared to the room. The bed was messy and warm as it wasn't usually empty unless we were forced to get out and actually do something, which we sometimes would put off.

Peeta gently sets me down on the bed. The warmth pleases me even if I preferred it cold. Peeta towers of me. I gnaw on my lip as he slithers off his jacket. I slowly exhale as he pulls off his shirt. My eyes, suddenly, were full of lust and want. My heart began to patter roughly against my chest. My stomach felt empty. He leans in and gingerly kisses me on the lips.

My hands travel to the small of his back. I tug him closer, and he crawls on the bed. We break off unwillingly, only to gasp, and crash our lips against each other's again.

His lips trek down to my neck, and I crane it back and moan in pleasure. His eyes lock with mine, and soon, everything was still, even time itself. A single tear rolls down my cheek as I leisurely push back against the backboard of the bed. I motion Peeta to come nearer, and he obliges. I gently press my lips to his. _We have time_, I thought with a smug smile.

XXX

The next morning I awake from a clanging noise outside my bedroom. Then someone complaining. After that there is a crash and a scream and finally, silence. I groan and roll over, unwillingly wanting to get up. I scrunch up in the bed, trying my best to ignore the continual whispers outside my door.

"Wake her,"

"No!" Peeta hisses.

"Do it!" Haymitch insists.

"Just leave," Peeta says. I can imagine him running his hands through his hair. "Thanks for helping me though, Haymitch."

"Whatever." He grumbles. I hear him stomping off and slamming the door. I groan into my pillow, already knowing what would be next.

Peeta knocks on the door. I roll my eyes. I hear more rattling. He knocks again.

"What?" I snap, throwing the pillow at the door as it gradually opens.

Peeta easily dodges the pillow. He chuckles, and I reopen my eyes to only see Peeta hoisting two tubs of paint. "Good morning." He says cheerfully.

My brows furrow. "What's with the paint cans?" I ask, ignoring his warm welcome.

"We're painting today." He replies, setting the cans down. He strides over to the side of my bed and crouches down to give me a kiss.

"Painting what?" I demand, drawing away.

"The small room in the back." He says, gesturing with his thumb. He extends his hand and helps me out of the bed.

"Do you mean the room where your art is?" I ask, braiding my hair to the side. I shrug on my jacket and lace up my boots. I round the bed, and together we walk out. He flickers the light switch as we descend.

In the kitchen, more paint cans, paint rollers, Peeta's thicker brushes, plastic tins, and tape are gathered at the eating table. A glass of water is there too. Peeta gestures towards the water first, I shake my head. I help him with the supplies. We continue on our way.

"Yeah," He conclusively responds with a confirming nod. "We need a nursery for the baby, so I'll just move my paintings into the attic." He shrugs. "It's no problem."

I stop midway when I realized what was going on. I raise an eyebrow. "We're what?" I ask dumbly.

"Painting for the nursery, baby." He says slowly, in a teasing manner.

I slap him hard. "Peeta!" I exclaim.

"What?" He demands, rubbing his sore arm.

I shake my head. "We can't just put all your art supplies and paintings up in the dusty old attic! You can barely fit a table for four in there, let alone all this art!"

Peeta's forefinger reaches my lips. I stop and stare down at it. My eyes narrow. "Shut up." He says. He removes his finger and keeps walking. I follow in suit. "I don't mind moving it." He repeats. He opens the door and dust and chalk dust welcomes us, wafting in our noses. I begin to cough as he waves his hand in the air, clearing all the types of dust there can be stored in such a tiny room. He drops the paint buckets down on the only stool. The other one I broke three months earlier is still next to the window. A broom and a dustpan is next to it. We still hadn't gotten a new one. We've been invested in other task.

I drop the bag of other supplies by our feet. Peeta steps over it, bends down, and puts his hands on my abdomen. "Besides," a warm, pleasant smile envelopes his face. My own lips somehow mirror his. I overlap my fingers over his. "This is a much better masterpiece." He murmurs softly.

He straightens back up. "So," he clasps his hands together. "Let's start on moving these paintings out." He suggest with a brow raised.

I shrug and start picking one up. Just my luck. It was the one with Prim. A lump forms in the back of my throat as I study her. Her round, flushed cheeks, tiny smile, and vibrant blue eyes. I let out a small sob and set it back down. I wipe my eyes with my sleeve. Peeta watches as he picks up several tinier pieces. He takes a step forward. "I'm fine." I insist with a rough tone. I shoot my hand out, stopping him. I pick up the picture of Primrose, alongside one of him and his older brother. I carry them out and set them on the small table by the attic door.

Peeta strides out, carrying plenty of small ones. He peers over it and tells me, "Just start setting the rest on the ground. It'll be easier to get them up to the attic that way." He gently drops the small canvases full of color and imagination on the hardware floor. He extends his hand out to me again. "Shall we, Mrs. Mellark?" he winks at me. I laugh and grab his hand. He twirls me around down the hall. He tugs me abruptly close to him. His lips brush against my ear. "We can have fun while doing this." He whispers, and steps back into the dark room. I smile and walk in. He begins grabbing bigger paintings, his arm muscles flexing.

I lean down and collect a few paintings myself and notice a little box in the corner. I grasp my fingers around it and study it. My hands feel around the smooth, carved texture. A little K is engraved by a dagger. Little designs are painted on edges of the box shaped like a trapezoid. I open it up and see velvet fitting snugly in the box. A single, glistening pearl shines from sunlight streaming through the window beside me. It was the same pearl Peeta gave me during the 75th Hunger Games. Memoires flooded in. all the good and bad. The savory kisses, and untrustworthy judgment towards the people who were helping me. The big spark in the tree, sending me flying as I break the arena. Gale casting down at me, telling me there was no District Twelve. Realizing Peeta—and Johanna—had been captured by President Snow.

I thought I lost it when I left District Thirteen. Somehow thrill bubbles in me.

"Katniss?" I hear Peeta call out.

I close the box and sip it into my coat pocket. I shuffle some paintings together and come out. "Sorry," I apologize. "I got awestruck by all these paintings." I recover smoothly. I set them down. I wipe my hands on my pants as some chalk dust leaped on my hands from grabbing them.

Peeta nods, believing it. We stride comfortably back in. "Only few more to go." Peeta promises. He grins. "And then we can paint."

I collect the last set of realistic paintings on one half of the room. There's about twenty more paintings on the Peeta's half, all on small canvases, except for the huge one of the family in the meadow.

Peeta carries that one separately and sets it on the kitchen table when I am heading back in. "How many left?" I ask as I walk in. There are only three, so I carry them and drop them on the ground. Peeta steps over all of his paintings and walks in behind me.

"Awesome!" he clasp my shoulder. "Let's get painting."

He kneels down on one knee and pop opens he two paint cans. The obnoxious fumes overbear. My nose scrunches up. "What color did you get since we don't know the sex?" I asks, turning my back against the fumes, hoping it would barricade the overwhelming scent.

"Yellow." Peeta responds cheerfully, ignoring the smell. He grunts as he tips the can. The bubbly yellow pours out onto the foil tray. It groans as it fills up.

"Yellow?" I repeat. His smile morphs into a frown.

"Do you not like it?" he asks, hurt pinned in his voice.

"No!" I counter quickly. "It's just," my eyes search around the empty room, hoping a reasonable clarification would pop up. "Just surprised, I guess." I say with a shrug.

"It seemed like a mutual color for both genders." Peeta sighs. "I can change it if you want?" He stands up. "I got Haymitch to store two paint cans of white in his house. I could run over there…" he gets cut off by my lips smashing onto his.

"It's fine." I promise. I grab a brush. I dip it into the cool yellow paint. "It's much better than white or," I scrunch my nose. "This grey."

Peeta laughs and joins with me. "This will look spectacular!" he imagines vividly. He gives my hand a squeeze. "I just know it."

XXX

Later in the evening, Peeta and I flop down onto the couch in our tiny living space. Peeta had turned on the radio as we cleaned up the trash and paint supplies. Classical piano music drifted around the house.

Our bodies were splattered with the bright yellow paint used for the nursery. Our nimble fingers ached for holding the brushes for hours, using small, slow strokes, Peeta's idea. My arms hurt from having to extend my arms up and down. My stomach growled from only munching on a red apple.

"You hungry?" Peeta asks, shifting his gaze towards me. He strokes my stomach. I, with my hands wrapped around his left arm and head rested on his shoulder, barely nod.

"Yes." I croak, my voice cracking. "Famished it seems."

"You are eating for two." Peeta points out.

"Still," I groan.

"How about I make you some soup and bread?" suggests Peeta. "And then some sweet apple pie for desert?"

"The pie sounds tempting."

"Skip the main meal?" Peeta chuckles.

"I don't even want to get up." I proclaim. I yawn. I snuggle closer into Peeta "How about we stay here and sleep?" I propose.

"I wish." Peeta sighs. "But," Peeta starts lifting up from the couch. I begin to groan. "We need to get you fed." He says, elevating me up also. I lace my fingers with his, and slowly we walk to the kitchen. I slide into a barstool and cross my arms.

"Can we skip dinner and just have pie?" I ask.

"Tempting offer," Peeta comments.

"Please!" I suddenly blurt out. I clamp my hand over my mouth. My eyes are wide.

"I didn't think…" Peeta starts.

"I don't." I finish. "Or I usually don't, anyway."

"Cravings." Peeta shakes his head. He puts up the steep pot that he was going to use. He opens the fridge and pulls out an already made apple pie. He unwraps the tinfoil and puts a slice of pie onto a plate, along with a napkin, fork, and glass of water.

I stare skeptically at it. My fingers grasp harder around the fork. My mouth begins watering over the savory piece.

"Eat it"

I am reluctant though.

"C'mon." Peeta leans against the counter, watching me, amused. "Have something sweet. The baby wants it, and I'm positive you want it."

I cut a piece out of the slice. I hoist it to my lips. I drop it in my mouth. I chew on it and swallow. "Mm." I groan in delight.

"Told you," Peeta rolls his eyes.

"I don't care." I say through another notorious bite.

"Just eat up." Peeta teasingly snaps. He gets a fork out of the drawer and gets him a small bite onto his fork. He raises it, and we clink forks.

"Cheers to our upcoming future." He says, bringing the fork to his lips. I do the same. We both chew and swallow. Simultaneously, we lean in across the granite countertop and press our lips together, fitting like a jigsaw puzzle.

**A/N: Fluff! Fluff! Fluff! Oh, fluff! I just enjoy it so much. Katniss and Peeta are adorable when they spend there time actually acting all...fluffy, instead of bickering, or something along the lines of that. But that is what makes their relationship so true and pure. **

**Right now everything seems promising and calm in District Twelve. Katniss and Peeta have started on the nursery, which is thumbs up because obviously they would normally wait till the last second. So bravo for them. But just because its quiet that doesn't mean trouble is brewing. I still have obstacles up my sleeve. And pretty soon, someone's best friend will be returning to District Twelve after working for years in District Two. And we all know how much trouble he causes when he just blink towards Katniss. All Hell is about to break loose! So I suggest you become prepared and strap on! **

**Until next time!**

***Disclaimer: Nada. **


	7. Chapter Six: I'm Only Human

**A/N: So, very rarely with this story will I ever have a titled for a chapter. This and one more will there be a song that just was so raw and made me think of Katniss, or Katniss and Peeta, that I _have_ to use it. The song is called Human by Christina Perri. I recommend you guys listening to that beautiful song as you read this. It'll help set the mood. **

**I want to thank all who clicked follow/favorite/review. Thanks to all of you! You all rock!**

**~gloriaalex.k**

**~Natinator1234**

**~blossomofsnow65**

**~volleyball1020**

**~prairie loon**

**~alwaysbebravegirl0nfire**

**Thank you guys! I dedicate this chapter to you guys! It's all because of you that I continue this story. So once again, this is for you guys! **

**BTW! Before if you do read this, I tried my very best to make this first part real raw (I'm still learning) and I hope you all enjoy this rekindle that happened with Katniss and her mother and that certain best friend.**

**Chapter Six**

**Human **

"Katniss," Peeta scurries back inside the bathroom where I was brushing my hair. He has cake batter on his left cheek. His fingers wrap tightly around the wooden spoon he was using to prepare a cake. He frowns. "are you sure you want to go out right now?"

I set my brush down. I smile softly. I slightly tap my fingers on the counter. "Yes, Peeta." I finally say with a douse of confidence. "I need too."

"It's just your emotions are greatly heightened at this stage in your pregnancy." He stutters, backing against the door as I exit. I roll down my sleeves and patter down the hall.

"I understand this." I respond calmly. I pass the kitchen with the high aroma of blueberry. My nose twitches, and my stomach growls; I continue on. I stop at the front door. My hand rests lightly on the doorknob, not wanting to leave quite yet. I turn my back on the door for a split second. Peeta stands in front of me.

He strokes my cheek gingerly. I smile pleasure. "I just don't want to see you hurting." He murmurs.

"I invited you to come." I remind quietly.

"I know." He swallows. "I just felt like I'd be out of place. I didn't quite know her before she died." He says glumly.

I cup his face. "That's okay." I feign a smile. "I'll be alright without you. It'll only be an hour, tops." I promise, overlapping my body around his into a sincere, deep hug.

A brisk knock makes me wriggle out of his warmth. I blow him a stiff kiss and tug open the door. My mother stands on the other side red eyed and clad in black. I force the lump in the back of my throat to reside and walk out, slamming the door in Peeta's face. "You ready?" I ask, hardening my steel grey eyes.

We stand in front of the victor house I presently occupy. The fresh planted primroses' blossom robustly in the late March sun. I take in a shaky breath and crouch down. My hands shakily scoop up a bouquet of the flower. I grip on them tightly and gesture for my mother to do the same. She crouches down and only picks up one feeble flower. Without making eye contact with me, she stiffly walks down the path and down the gravely street. Her thick leather boots crunch on the gravel as she descends farther on. I loosen one hand on the flowers and amble over to Haymitch, who was lazily rocking on a wooden rocker outside his shabby Victor House. A bottle of alcohol, which was drained, rested on his lap as he rocked. He narrows his eyes at me but nods. I do the same and stride up the rickety steps. I slap my hand around behind the rocker, making sure not to get it squashed by Haymitch's constant swaying. Grabbing the delicate painting and tucking it under my arm, I tersely nod again in a solemn shake and follow after my mother, who had stopped shortly ahead at the heart of the town.

"Let's go." I say briskly, marching on. My mother stops me by latching her hand over my arm. I stagger back, almost dropping the painting.

"What is that?" she questions, creasing her sculpted brows. Her hand trembles against my arm. I swallow and wrench my hand free.

"It's nothing." I snap.

"I deserve to know," shouts my mother.

I stride on. My mother falls in step behind me.

"You can't keep shutting me out." She whispers. Her voice cracks.

We reach the end of Distract Twelve. Where numerous corpses rest in peace, we search and find the right one we are looking for. We stand in front of the little tombstone that had been planted years ago. The bright, cheery sun now cowards away in fear underneath thick, gloomy clouds. The wind whisks my hair around my face, gradually picking up. I shiver somewhat. I hear my mother sniffle and choke back her held sob.

I suck in my breath and reach for the tiny hammer I stowed in my pocket. I grab ahold of the tiny nails in my side pocket and arch forward. I lift the painting and set it sternly behind the gravestone. With the protective wrap concealing it, I attach the picture to the tombstone. The flowers are still in my hand.

Straightening back up, I brush back my hair, even though it comes soaring in front of my face, and ask, "Is he not coming?"

"I honestly don't know." My mother's voice trails off.

I shake my head. I should have known. It has been ages since I've last seen him. The last time was before returning back home at the end of the rebellion, alone and depressed.

My grip tightens around the flowers. The blossoming petals began branching off the flowers and, as if knowing exactly where to go, fall perfectly aligned next to her headstone. My eyes start to burn.

"She was the light in all of this…madness." My mother chokes out hoarsely. She sweeps her hair back. "I would have never noticed she was strong if it wasn't for the life that was put in front of us." She glares my way. "If it wasn't for you who saved me from wanting to die." She stares directly ahead. I stare ahead too at the melancholy atmosphere. "But it should've been me." My mother burst into tears. I snap my head towards her. She locks her eyes with me, her eyes which were full of salty, hot tears. "She was supposed to live! Have a life, marry someone who could support her!" my mother sobs. She steps toward Prim's tombstone. She arranges the brittle flower on top of the stone. Her fingers are shaking irately. She slumps to her knees and buries her head in her hands.

Watching my mother's raw feelings explode from her clenched up body, I, too, realize that I finally have to accept it and move on. I step beside my mother and let the flowers tumble from my deathly grip. They fall perfectly onto the tombstone. They sprinkle around it.

_But I'm only human_

_And I bleed when I fall down_

_I'm only human_

_And I crash and I break down_

_Your words in my head, knives in my heart _

_You build me up and then I fall apart_

_'Cause I'm only human_

My chin wobbles. I close my eyes and open up. My heart fills like its being repeatedly stabbed by the torturing reminder of Prim's body being blown to pieces. Her gleeful smile as she saves a life from death's door. Her light laugh pounds in my ear. And the tears chute freely down my flushed cheeks.

Knowing how life can abruptly become short and stop in seconds makes me become scared again. Scared for the living presence inside of me. The wonderful masterpiece that Peeta and I created.

My legs become like jelly, and I start to crumble to the ground.

"Katniss?"

I halt. I slowly whirl around to see his stout frame dressed with a black top and sloppy, baggy brown pants with black hiker boots. His grey eyes that match mine so well glistened. His harden expression was kind and enduring. More tears welled up in my eyes knowing that he _actually_ showed up.

I slowly begin walking but break into a hearty sprint. Now the awaiting rain pounds fast and hard from the clouds above. The sheets of rain slather our bodies, but all I could think of is that Gale actually showed up, he was here. And it warms my heart.

I fall into his arms and snuggle closer to him. The rain was hiding the constant flow of tears. "I've missed you like crazy." I admit meekly.

Gale rest his head on top of me. He rubs my back. "I've missed you more, Catnip." He responds with a sigh.

"I can't believe you came." I break into a sob.

"I'm here." He says coolly. He stares straight ahead, a pleasant smile draped over his face. "I'm here."

I pull back. I crane back and see my mother straightening up, staring blankly at the tombstone. I lead Gale to it. He clears his throat and crosses his hands in front of his torso.

_I'm only human_

_I'm only human_

_Just a little human_

I close my eyes and steady myself. My minds dolls back to Peeta's caring face. His unlimited promises he's always kept. And his soft, unconditional kisses that made me swoon each time I receive one. I think of his gentile touch and the promising lust in his eyes. And the happiness he feels about this baby.

Even though I no doubly wanted him holding me in his gallant arms, I knew I could survive this day without him. I knew that once I opened up about the death of Prim and finally accepted it, I would be stronger than before. I have to do this with _specific _people, the people who held me through thick and thin as I grew up.

I slide my fingers with Gale's and my mother's. I open my eyes and say self-confidently, "Prim, you are in a better place now. A place where there' unconditional happiness." I take a steady breath, calming my nerves. "I miss you so much, but I know you would want me to move on, stop silently grieving and hurting." I smile sadly. "I love you, Prim."

XXX

The rain had died down an hour later. The sun was shining vividly out, warming up the district. My mother had given Gale a polite hello and hug before descending back to the Victor Houses. Gale and I had reluctantly stayed back, deciding to catch up while getting dry. It had been almost two hours of talking. And we were slowly running out of things to talk about since I've retired on hunting, only doing it occasionally every other year.

"So Catnip," Gale says as we walk through the forest. "How have you been?"

I shrug. "Nothing much. I mean, a lot actually." I pause, collecting what all I was going to tell him about these past few years. Not much. "Peeta and I got married three years ago." I say.

I wince. I notice his jaw tightening. He starts to stiff up but calms down. "How's District Two?" I ask, trying to steer away anything about me.

"Same old, same old." He replies tersely. He stops walking and leans back on a damp tree. He folds his hands across his bulky chest and studies me. "You've changed, Katniss." He comments.

I cringe, avoiding eye contact. I urge myself to not cover up my stomach. I ball my hands in fist, turning my knuckles a ghastly white.

"I have?"

"Yes," he says with a confirming nod. His forehead creases. "I just can't figure it out."

I nod. "Oh, well nothing hasn't changed." I say rather leisurely. "I'm still me."

"No you're not." He scoffs.

I furrow my eyebrows. "What?" my voice hardens.

"The bread boy has changed you." Gale huffs. "Softened you up a bit."

"Peeta." I say through clenched teeth. "His name is Peeta." I bark. Suddenly I realize, why did I want him here? To ruin my happiness? I didn't want him messing everything up.

I turn on my heels and start retreating back to the abandoned, rotting gate when I felt his hand clench around my wrist, gripping tighter, turning my wrist unbelievably red. I gasp as I saunter back. "Gale, let me go." I growl, trying to shove his wrist off. He tightens it. I feel his fingers digging into my skin. "Gale!" I shout. I began to whimper. "You're hurting me!"

His hands relaxes. "I'm sorry, Katniss." He quickly apologies, jamming his hands in his pocket. He sighs and pulls one hand to the back of his neck. He begins rubbing it awkwardly.

I nod firmly. "Whatever." I say flatly, striding to the gate, rubbing my wrist.

"Katniss, wait!" he calls out after me. I stop, knowing he was going to go out of his way to apologize.

"I just…I just need my space, Gale." I admit.

"You've had your space for three years now." He chuckles gawkily. "I've missed you, a lot."

"You can stay." I tell him flatly. "But I need my space right now, so please let me have it." I walk away.

XXX

Breathing steadily, I open the door to the house. "Hello?" I call out. The lights were all out in the front. It was past seven now, and the sun had set down as I visited my mother for some bandage to wrap my wrist. I then had stayed for dinner.

I close the door and pad down the living area and pass the vacant kitchen. A small cake was pressed at the back corner. I walk over to it and peer at the delicate writing and patterns.

Before I can make out what the writing says, I hear a grunting sound coming from the back rooms. I push off the counter and head back there. "Peeta?"

I open the door to our room to see Peeta standing on the bed, hoisting a painting overhead on the wall. He turns around and smiles. "Hey." He greets. He hooks the painting on the wall and comes down off the bed.

I stare at the painting of beautiful primroses. My heart aches, but I feel no pain. I smile. "Did you make this?" I ask, breathless.

"Yeah," he admits bashfully.

"It's outstanding." I compliment. "But…when did you find time?"

"Here and there." He responds, lacing his fingers with mine. He sways me around. "I finally finished it yesterday an waited for it to dry." He murmurs in my ear, kissing my temple. A faint shiver runs up my spine.

"I love it." I say, my voice trailing off. His hands snake to my stomach, and strokes my stomach. I smile with pleasure. He kisses my cheek. His hands finding their way back to mine. He twirls me around. "I've never been the one to dance." I remind him as he draws me close to him, ceasing the gap. His eyes shine brightly as we back out, Peeta leading me into a classy, elegant dance around our bedroom.

"Let me show you, then." He says as he cups his fingers with mine and places his other hand on my waist. I straighten up and fix my hand on his shoulder.

"Lead the way."

* * *

**A/N: Sooo? Did you like it? I wanted to update this even though I have school tomorrow and super tired I had soccer earlier. I really hope you all looked up that song. Its so beautiful. I love it. It's so raw and real. **

**To clarify something so no one gets confused. Gael will be staying for a while in this story. So I hope you all like the upcoming drama that will come raveling at you guys. You've already got glimpse of what'll happen in some parts. **

**Review my lovelies and tell me what you thought! Your ideas will not go unnoticed, I swear! I wish you all the best. **

**Another BTW: Say Your Name will be updated when I have free time. So if anyone reads that, I'll update as soon as I have free time!**

**Until next time my lovelies!**

***Disclaimer: I own only my plot! Everything else goes to Suzanne Collins!**


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